


Love Me Dead

by Aaradhya (ThePureEvil)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Gen, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePureEvil/pseuds/Aaradhya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione lost her parents to WWII when she was ten. She was rescued from nazis by a wizard. He shared his blood and his name with her but soon died. She had to sruvive as heiress of pureblood 'family', but as a mugglborn she wasn't ready for the cruelty of the world. And just when she thought she was safe again and her struggle was over she met Tom and it started all over again. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

> On one lonely night she came to me in a dream... The girl so perfect for the doom and gloom of Grindelwald rule and Riddle's ascent to power.
> 
> This story is a heavy AU. It's dark. It's disturbing. War. Death. Torture. Questionable Morals.
> 
> Some swearing. No explicit sex scenes, if any. Messed up timeline.

**Prologue**

**.**

**.**

_Through my eyes_  
_Time goes by like tears_  
_My emotion's losing the color of life_  
_Kill my heart_  
_Release all my pain_  
_I'm shouting out loud_  
_Insanity takes hold over me..._

_(Art Of Life - X JAPAN)_

**.**

**.**

I was sitting in the Headmaster's office waiting for Dippet's return. Few years ago I would be bold enough to inspect the room, curiously poke each and every artefact sitting on the desk in front of me, and even roam the place checking out all the books headmaster had laying around. Instead I just sat there and stared at my hands.

Every once in a while I would wince in pain as my wounds were not yet properly injury on my face was the worst. It burnt and itched and then burnt some more. Yet, I refused to complain. I knew I was lucky the curse missed my eye even if by mere millimeters. Ugly scar I could handle, but losing my eye would be just too much. I was no stranger to scars, by then they covered almost my whole body. I threw myself at that curse on purpose, it was not mistake nor did anyone catch me unaware. I just picked the lesser of two evils.

Sometimes a stray thought crossed my mind with a whisper of regret. Maybe the killing curse was a better choice, maybe I had made mistake, but I kept shaking it off. After all the things that happened to me over the years it would be foolish to give up. I was survivor. I was a warrior. Still, I was tired of fighting and decided to seek safe asylum elsewhere. That's how I ended up at Hogwarts.  
It was far away from the conflict I was dragged into unwillingly and it promised a peace of mind. How very wrong I was… I would really like to say I wasn't hopeful that I could live happy life in Britain and maybe just maybe finally have some friends. But that would be a lie. They say hope dies last and I guess it's true. They also say that the hope is the mother of fools and sadly that's a fact.

However back then, in Dippet's office I was blissfully unaware of what was yet to happen. If I knew… I would run away screaming and throw myself at the first stray killing course I encounter. I'd made a lot of mistakes I'm not proud of but seeking shelter at Hogwarts was the biggest of them all. But I guess... I should start at the very beginning…

.

.

.

He was a man living on borrowed time. And he searched for a child that could save his bloodline. The atrocities muggles committed during yet another war were beyond his comprehension even though he was no stranger to humans' dark nature. He found me and he saved me. The man saved me from THEM but he also saved me from myself. If not for him my fate would be much more gruesome than simple shot in the back of my head.

My father was a scientist, my mom was his assistant. We were travelling across the Europe I don't even remember why, it all seems so distant. I think it was something to do with my father's work. The war caught us by surprise. We were in wrong place in wrong time. There was nowhere to run anymore. We could only try to blend in and pray to be the lucky ones to survive. It worked for a while. Then there was uprising. Thousands died. It was a failure. THEY decided to punish the people, common citizens and the order was given… Slaughter everyone. Flat by flat, building by building, street by street. They came at night, dragged us out and lead to huge mass graves already half filled with bodies. They made us form a line and one by one… lifeless bodies were falling down with a thump as they hit the corpses on the bottom. I heard my mother whisper "Oh, God! They will kill us… They will kill us all."

My family was at the end of the line. I was last. It was a blessing and a curse. I watched my parents die and then it was my turn. I was terrified, tears were rolling down my cheeks. It was egoistical but I did not wish to die. I didn't want to join my family in death. I turned around and look at the MAN as he was pulling the trigger. The bullet never reached me. I had no idea what was happening but their weapons started floating in the air… so high up that they couldn't reach them. And then they stared at me with wide eyes and… The rest is a blur. Next thing I remember, I was held by a man in a tight embrace and then there was such a weird sensation and we disappeared to appear somewhere else, far from the horrors of the genocide.

I'm not sure why my mind didn't snap after what I've experienced. I think I owe it to the magic. It kept me in a tranquil trance as I looked around the place and inspected my savior.

He looked like a monster from my worst nightmares. He was old and he was sick and there was something absolutely inhuman about him. His smile gave me chills and if I was able to move I'd have run. But I didn't. I was too scared, my body was out of my control and I owed him my life.

After the horrors of war his home was serene place. The discovery of my magic was a bliss. I found family in him. He cared for me, he taught me and he shared his blood with me. He made me half his. There was his blood flowing through my veins as a result of obscure ritual. The man left me everything he owned, his legacy, his works and duty that came with being the head of powerful but almost extinct bloodline. He trained me in defense and offense. Some of the spells were evil but he insisted I learn as much as I can for my own good. I didn't understand but I obeyed him. I learnt the language and I did my best to learn the customs but the time was cut short.

I never expected to be attacked by my own kind. I always thought he wanted me safe from THEM but my delusions were quickly destroyed the moment I stepped into The Academy. It didn't take me long to learn my place in society. I was a muggleborn, or more commonly – a mudblood. No amount of crazy ritual would clean my blood from filth and Academy was only for pureblood heirs of powerful families. I was a fair game to them. My only protection was influence of my dying adoptive father. It lasted a year and a half. During my second year I lost everything. The only person who cared for me, the only one who could protect me. I lost my will to live. I signed myself up for the 'fighting club'. It sounds innocent but it was anything but. It was like fighting pits for slaves hundreds years ago. Except there you had to sign the contract and the person to kill you would inherit your title and wealth. I thought it's a good way to go – fighting. I was too cowardly for suicide, I owed him at least a proper try before giving up. I didn't hope to live long but it turned out I'm quite hard to kill or maybe I was just too (un)lucky to die. It doesn't mean I kept walking out without a scratch. Quite the opposite. Sometimes I was barely standing on my legs, sometimes I had to crawl out, more often than not I was leaving barely alive leaving a trace of blood behind me.

It went on for a few years before my bad luck caught on with me. Staying alive and sometimes even kicking other people's arses made me more confident. It made me feel like I belonged whether they wanted a mudblood there or not. My education was progressing nicely, I had great grades and fair amount of interested. But I had no friends and no family. I had a trust fund, access to small flat and I tried to have a kneezle. I brought Jenkins with me to the Academy. He didn't live long. Someone flayed him and crucified on the doors leading to my dorm room. The jokes about prayers to unholy skinless kitty accompanied me for the rest of the year. I was still almost suicidal but I found great remedy for that. Every time I got my arse kicked I felt better. I knew I could survive, I believe I could bear anything life would throw at me. At least until I would come of age and had duties as the head of the house Martell and a great fortune to manage. I wasn't even thinking about that.

I was a fighter. I was survivor. I didn't shun any kind of magic. I learnt as much and as fast as I could. The jungle law of the Academy required thick skin and balls of steel, regardless of one's sex. I never stopped with the fighting club. I was getting better and better and I was climbing up in the ranking. At the beginning of my fifth year I made it to the top. The most advanced group consisted of both current student and graduates. Everyone who attended Academy could join the club, regardless of the graduation date. Others could join by invitation only and had to go through series of tests. It was a new rule, for hundreds years they did not allow outsiders. Oh, how I wished they kept it that way…

Soon the club was filled with all shady characters and the game was more ferocious than ever. People kept dying as fast as muggles on battlefields.

Somewhere during my modest childhood Grindelwald raised to power. He took Germany by storm and kept expanding his influence on other countries starting with Europe. His forced reached also the Academy. His men started attending our fights and our games. Then came Grindelwald himself. Of course most of us stayed ignorant of his identity. Not for long though. He started recruiting. Some people had choice, some didn't. I was an easy prey. They tested us well. Single combat, team combat, strategy, leadership. It wasn't bad as long as I was on his team. However, nothing decent lasts forever. The day for me to be tested came sooner than I expected. I got the leadership over small group of wizards with average experience with the game and teamwork. It was a game for life. Only if you managed to stay alive for two hours your life would be spared. I got lucky. I dodged the last killing curse when the bells started ringing. Of course staying alive came with a price, my previously unmarked face would bear huge scare for the rest of my life. I thought It was over and I could walk away free. It was naïve of me. I could win or I could die but there was no rejecting his offer available for me. I managed to escape, barely. My body was bloody mess, I was losing a lot of blood. I blacked out.

I have no memory of what exactly happened. I can only guess. My magic apparated me straight to the arms of a healer… in Britain. I can't explain how it happened and I didn't really care. When I woke up month later from magical come and heard my mother tongue I was full of joy… and hope. With some help I applied for refuge to the British Ministry of Magic and was granted a place in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nothing was going to harm me now, I was safe. My bad luck had left me. I wished… They let me out of St. Mungo's a week later and send me straight to Dippet's office. There I let hope and dreams take over and I actually believed that I'm going to be free, carefree and happy. Oh, how very wrong I was…

.

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End file.
